


The Gala

by MissDizzyD



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 2014 Winter Olympics, Hurt!Stiles, M/M, figure skating, gala - Freeform, i won't lie this would never happen, just a lot of ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDizzyD/pseuds/MissDizzyD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek asks Stiles to skate with him in the Figure Skating Gala. It goes alright... Until it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gala

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [take a step before running](https://archiveofourown.org/works/739513) by [magneticwave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticwave/pseuds/magneticwave). 



> This was inspired by magneticwave's 'take a step before running'. You should totally read that fic first. 
> 
> As it says in the tags, this wouldn't happen, ever, and it's ridiculous. I also know nothing about figure skating and how the gala works etc. I'm not even entirely sure why I wrote this... But enjoy!

“So the gala’s tomorrow,” Derek says as they lie naked in Derek’s bed, still basking in the glorious afterglow from the most recent round of mind-blowing sex. It had been spectacular. Stiles isn’t sure he’s going to be able to stand up for the next few hours. He lazily kisses at Derek’s bicep where it’s curled next to his head and makes a low noise to show that he’s listening. “In the Iceberg.”

“Yeah, Lydia was talking about it,” Stiles nips Derek’s skin, following the action with a tiny, soothing lick. “Want me to come watch?”

“Actually, I... Uh...” Derek sits up quickly, dislodging Stiles with a low grunt. “Never mind, it’s not important... Stupid idea anyway...” He trails off into near inaudible mutters. Stiles groans in disagreement and hits him sloppily on the leg until he finally twists his upper half, craning to look down at him and visibly steels himself. “I... I want you to skate with me.”

Stiles frowns at him for a second, wondering if he’s serious. Does he mean like actually on the ice with him? Or afterwards, when everyone’s gone? Maybe just meeting the other skaters in the rink?

“Dude, that’s breaking so many rules I can’t even begin to list them all.”

“Forget it, never mind,” Derek answers quietly, making to get out of bed.

“Derek, _of course_ I’ll skate with you,” Stiles grabs his wrist and pulls him back down, snuggling into his chest. The guy’s like a space heater, even in the Russian cold. “I have no idea how to figure skate but it sounds like fun. One last ‘screw you’ to Russia’s homophobia, huh?”

“Thank you,” mutters Derek, dropping a quick kiss to Stiles’ mouth then wrapping them up in the blanket. “I have to tell them my song choice later, so I needed to know.”

“What song?” Stiles yawns.

“You’ll see tomorrow. We’ll improvise. No one’s scoring us on this performance. It’ll be fine.”

And Stiles doesn’t even have time to respond to that horrifically bad plan before he’s snoring softly against those solid pecs. He dreams of gliding across the ice dressed like an angel while everyone in the audience swoons and sighs dramatically.

~~~

_IF ONLY,_ Stiles thinks the next day, stood next to the rink where Derek told him to wait for the signal to join him on the ice. According to Derek’s orders, he’s dressed in his most colourful clothes with a pair of neon pink training skates strapped tightly to his feet. He’s shaking with nerves and still a little sore from yesterday’s activities and God this is going to hurt like a motherfucker. Three people have already asked him what he’s doing, hovering by the barrier looking shifty and it won’t be much longer before someone actually kicks him out. 

Derek is the third to skate so Stiles sweats with nerves for about fifteen minutes, barely noticing anything but the beat of the music and clapping politely when everyone else does.

But then Derek takes to the ice and Stiles squares his shoulder, hand resting on the latch of the barrier he’s stood next to, only moving it to physically facepalm when the music starts and Patrick Swayze croons throughout the building. He knows beyond doubt that he will be Baby and he seriously regrets the moment a few days ago when he admitted he and Scott had learnt all the steps in their senior year of highschool.

Then Derek points at him and makes _come hither_ eyes. And Stiles, like the complete in-love fool he is, actually steps out onto the ice. Someone catcalls. It sounds like Erica. 

“You know this shit too?” Stiles whispers when he reaches Derek, who takes his hand and kisses his neck lightly, humming and grinning. “And are we really doing the lifts?” He asks, then balks when he feels his new Johnny nodding against his skin (and doesn’t that just sound wrong?). 

Stiles is just wondering how the hell he’s supposed to keep on his toes in ice skates when the bass drops and Derek spins him out and he gets swept up into the dance.

~~~ 

It goes pretty well; only a few minor stumbles when Stiles forgets he’s on ice and not his student union’s dance floor, and one almost-crash when their opinion on the correct choreography obviously differs. Derek gives him smouldering looks throughout so who can really blame him if he forgets about the thousands of people watching and grinds a little bit too enthusiastically? 

But yeah, it goes pretty well...

Until the final lift. The _‘holy hell you’re heavy’_ lift, as he and Scott always called it.

Stiles takes a moment to send prayers to every single deity he can think of as Derek slides off to the other end of the rink and beckons him over, a cocky smirk on his face and Stiles lists off all the cursewords he knows as he runs over, determined to see this through or die trying. 

And... _Jesus that was meant to be a figure of speech,_ Stiles thinks, just before he slams face first onto the ice and everything goes black.

~~~ 

He wakes up in a hospital. He doesn’t know where or what time it is or even what day it is, just that Derek is right there next to him, slumped in an uncomfortable looking chair with his eyes half shut and right hand limp where it’s holding Stiles’ left. 

The hospital bed is uncomfortable, too, and Stiles feels stiff all over when he tries to move and oh good, it can’t have been too long because his ass still hurts from all the sex. He can’t quite decide whether that’s a good or a bad thing. Then he notices a newspaper lying at the foot of his bed, showing a bold title of _‘HE’S BEAUTY AND HE’S GRACE’,_ with a picture of the moment Stiles fell, his flailing limbs and bright clothes doing nothing to hide his panicked expression. 

“At least we made the front page,” he croaks out, smiling when Derek jerks awake and jumps from his seat, hands immediately flying to fuss at the blankets. “But I can’t believe they used a _Miss Congeniality_ quote. I don’t know whether to be offended or delighted.”

“Probably a mixture of the two,” Derek murmurs, looking at Stiles with huge, guilty eyes in the puppiest puppy dog expression Stiles has ever seen. It’s adorable. And a little bit heartbreaking. Most heartbreaking, actually, so Stiles grabs his wrist and tugs. He doesn’t have any IVs or heart monitors or anything attached to him so he feels no guilt whatsoever about dragging Derek into his arms and hugging him hard.

“Not your fault.”

“But-”

“I’m not saying it again, Der. Do you think for one second you could make me do something I didn’t want to do? It was fun. Something to tell the grandkids, am I right?” When Derek huffs a laugh onto the back of his neck, he grins, regretting it immediately when his whole face flares up in utter agony. Derek pulls back and the next Stiles knows, there are nurses hovering around him asking him questions in heavy accents that he barely understands. He answers as best he can but then someone pricks his arm with a needle and he’s out again, passing out in the middle of Derek’s name and still reaching for a warm hand to hold his. 

~~~ 

Stiles dreams. He dreams of playing baseball at Citi Fields while Derek pelts him with hard-packed snowballs over and over again, ignoring Stiles’ pleas for him to stop, just sneering out, “He’s Miss United States,” meanly. 

He bolts awake, a scream dying in his throat when he sees a group of laughing people at the foot of his bed. Scott’s there, muttering to Allison as she smiles softly and nods along with what he’s saying, looking completely smitten in an _‘Aww what an adorable puppy’_ way. Lydia and Jackson are in the corner talking to a dark haired woman that he recognises from a photo in Derek’s room and Erica is kneeling with Derek by his bedside looking at her phone and laughing. Stiles hears the music and groans along with Derek.

“No way,” every face in the room turns to him in silence, making the Dirty Dancing music seem even more surreal. “Let me guess, it’s gone viral?” 

“Yeah,” Erica giggles, throwing the phone at him and successfully breaking the weird tension in the air. The accident looks even worse from a different point of view. Stiles hadn’t been conscious for the messy aftermath of people flooding onto the ice and then Derek heroically babbling and flapping as the medics lift him onto a stretcher and cart him off, nor the state of the ice after Stiles bled all over it. He mentally adds a head wound bad enough to bleed to his list of known maladies. Thankfully, although he had taken Derek down with him when he fell, he had had enough common decency to keep his blades out of his new boyfriend’s crotch. Thank. God. 

“Good, isn’t it?” The brunette says, coming over to stand behind Derek with her hands on his shoulders. “I’m Laura by the way. Also, ignore old Grumpy Brows over here, he’s bound to exaggerate, he’s utterly infatuated with you,” Laura waves her hand dismissively as if her words hadn’t given both Derek and Stiles a rabbit-in-the-headlights-of-a-monster-truck look. “So I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Obviously your face. It’s quite impressive, actually, just how much bruising you managed to get on that cute little mug of yours. Your nose didn’t break but apparently it was a close thing and your cheekbones are still intact. You’ve lost a tooth-”

“Another one?” He exclaims, pushing his tongue around his mouth to find the gap. 

“Very back, right hand side,” Laura fills in, gesturing to her jaw. “Nothing serious. Apart from that, you’re pretty much okay. Der-bear here cushioned your fall,” she nudges his shoulder lightly. “Kind of him. After he dropped you.”

“He didn’t-”

“I said sorry-”

“That’s not important right now,” Lydia cuts in coldly from the other side of the bed and Stiles starts feeling really hemmed in by hot people. “First of all, you’re an idiot, Stilinski. Why would you try to figure skate at _the Olympics_ when you’ve never done it before?”

“I thought it would be fun,” Stiles grumbles.

“Oh yes, it was a real riot,” she flicks her hair away from her eyes. “You need to get dressed. The closing ceremony starts in four hours and we need to get you back to the Village. We’ll give you some privacy. I brought you clean clothes so shower and put them on. You need to be presentable.”

“She reminds me of Effie Trinket,” Stiles says under his breath once everyone but Derek has left the room. “It’s horrifying.”

Derek is unnaturally quiet as he helps Stiles across the room and into the shower and he doesn’t even respond to Stiles’ shameless ogling when he strips off and climbs right in with him. It’s unnerving, to say the least. No one would ever call Derek chatty, but the stony, brooding silence is more than Stiles can handle. 

“Okay, what is it?” He says a little snappishly when they’re out of the shower and redressing. 

“It’s my fault,” Derek replies mulishly, “That you’re hurt, I mean. It was a terrible idea.”

“We’ve been through this, Derek. Trust me when I say that this is not the worst plan I’ve ever weighed in on. Shit, this doesn’t even enter into the top ten so stop your stupid worrying and come and kiss me for fucks sake, you’re driving me mad. Also, it was a fantastic idea. I loved it. Right up until I made friends with the ice, I mean, but this isn’t too bad,” he finishes, eyes trailing up and down Derek’s naked form with obvious intent. 

“The doctors said no strenuous activity for a few days,” Derek whispers, suddenly mere millimetres away from Stiles’ mouth. “I’m going to be enforcing that.”

“Hah! Sure thing, buddy,” Stiles answers because there is no way in hell that they aren’t getting down and dirty as soon as the closing ceremony is over. But first... “Come on, put some clothes on or Lydia will have both our balls.”

And with that _lovely_ mental image, they get dressed, occasionally brushing up against one another but keeping it strictly PG, above the waist because seriously, Stiles has plans for later and they involve all of Derek’s body parts still being attached, thank you very much.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on tumblr.   
> Personal: imtheanomaly.tumblr.com  
> Fanfic: missdizzyd.tumblr.com (I take prompts here)


End file.
